Lost
by rubylucasridinghoodmeghanory
Summary: Harry and Hermione are sent on an Auror assignment to discover the whereabouts of Flight 8-15, but what happens when their plan backfires, and they too are stuck on the island? Will they ever make it back home?
1. Pilot Part 1

PILOT PART 1

"**Potter! Granger! Shacklebolt wants you!"** Harry Potter looked up, heaved a tumultuous sigh and set a thick stack of unfinished paperwork onto his desk. "Now!"

"Yeah, one minute!" he replied, standing up and strolling through the Auror office, turning every so often around the complex maze of cubicles until he finally met his best friend Hermione Granger at Kingsley's door.

"What assignment do you think we're getting this time?" she asked.

"I don't know, but I hope it's not that Flight 8-17 or whatever."

"8-15," corrected Hermione on instinct.

"Right, 8-15."

_"Harry! Harry, come and see this!" yelled Ginny. _

_"What? What is it? Are you all right? Is it the baby?" he ran into the room to see his wife sitting calmly in an arm chair, her eyes locked on the screen. _

_"No, it's nothing like that. Look," she pointed to the television. Harry glanced up, listening intently. _

_"' - no news yet on any survivors, but we have received word from our helicopter crew which is currently hovering over the scene that no remains of the plane were discovered. It seems to have simply vanished, leaving concerned friends and family on the mainland. Passengers include spinal surgeon Dr. Jack Shephard, fugitive Katherine Austen and bass guitar player Charlie Pace, member of the band once known as Driveshaft.'" Ginny clicked a button on the remote, and the TV turned off._

_"How horrible," she cringed. "All those people, all their lives are just – gone?"_

_"That doesn't make any sense. No plane can just disappear into thin air – not without magic."_

"Come in Harry, Hermione," Kingsley opened the door kindly, his tall body towering over them. "I've got another job for you."

"Of course you do, Shacklebolt," Harry smirked and shook Kingsley's extended hand as he followed Hermione into the spacious warm office.

"Please have a seat," he pulled a chair out for Hermione, who sat neatly on the thick red cushion. "Well, let me get straight to it," Kingsley sunk into his own chair and put his hands onto the desk in a business-like manner. "What do you know about Oceanic Flight 8-15?"

Hermione glanced at Harry with an agitated look. "Not too much," replied Hermione, turning back towards Kingsley.

"Well, Flight 8-15 was a scheduled flight from Sydney to Los Angeles. However, yesterday, September 22, the plane, which had been carrying 324 living persons, one deceased, one Labrador retriever and one rare breed of spider, deviated from its original course and disappeared over the Pacific Ocean," he said while looking over a file. "It is obviously rather curious that no evidence of the plane can be found. I'm providing you with a time-turner, and you're going to be on this flight."

"Wonderful," said Harry sarcastically. "So are we going to disappear as well then?"

"I'm sure they didn't actually vanish, Harry. Planes don't disappear," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "Something else must be the problem – perhaps something the media is hiding from ordinary civilians."

"Precisely," Kingsley agreed. "Look, I'm well aware it was your birthday only a few days ago, Hermione, and Harry, I know you and Ginny are being careful with the baby, but we cannot ignore the loss of 324 Muggles. I'd ask another team, but I have never seen Aurors with your combined talents before. I hope you understand."

"Of course, sir," they said at once.

"There's no need to call me 'sir'. We've known each other long enough. Anyways, here you are." Kingsley handed each of them a large pile of papers. "Have these read thoroughly by tomorrow and report to my office at noon.

Harry began to flip through it casually. "Have a good night, Kingsley," he stood up solemnly, his nose buried in the packet. Hermione nodded in agreement and walked through the door that Harry had propped open with his foot.

**"Do you really have to leave **_**again**_**, Hermione?"** asked Ron as he tossed a few shirts into her suitcase.

"Ron, do you honestly believe there's anything to worry about? All Harry and I have to do is figure out what _really_ happened. Then I can come home."

He stopped looking through Hermione's drawers and walked cautiously up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Promise?"

"I promise," she smiled, leaning her head against his chest. Hermione found it hard to believe they had been dating for six years; Harry and Ginny had only been together for two when they tied the knot, but Hermione had always understood that Ron moved at a much slower pace. Still, she longed for the day when she could wear his ring proudly on her finger. Smiling as he kissed the top of her head, Hermione said, "I'd love to stay like this, Ron, but I have a lot of reading to do."

"Hermione, you can't keep using that excuse to get rid of me," he teased, his hands sliding up to lightly touch her cheeks, and she gazed upwards into his eyes.

"Get rid of you?" Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. "Never," she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips lightly against his for a few blissful seconds. Using all her strength to pull away, she mumbled, "Now I really have to work."

"Oh fine," he let her go with a smirk. "I'll finish packing for you." Ron continued where he had left off, allowing Hermione to curl up on their bed with the stack of papers. The first page was simply a more detailed explanation of Kinglsey's summary.

The next few described the aliases Hermione and Harry would become: Emily Belgarde and Albert Holmes. Supposedly, Emily was an architect who had spent a couple months observing Australian architecture and was now spending a few days examining the Golden Gate Bridge. Underneath these papers were notes on buildings and structures, but Hermione barely glanced at them, having spent most of her life reading any book she could get her hands on, no matter the topic. Harry, on the other hand, was a writer working on his first novel and returning from a visit with his uncle. They were strangers to one another, and Hermione was glad that their lack-of-interaction would not have to last long.

Following these pages were several dedicated to the passengers. The first on the list was a man by the name of Leslie Arzt. There wasn't any interesting information on him except that he was the owner of the spider, if you could even call that interesting. Following Arzt was a stunningly beautiful woman filed as Katherine Anne Austen. She had the most papers of all the passengers because she had been charged with murder in the first degree, theft, and several accounts of escaping from and attacking a United States federal marshal by the name of Edward Mars. Hermione flipped to the marshal's page next, but obviously, little was found there.

Finally, after six hours of reading, re-reading and rubbing her eyes red, Hermione closed the packet and cozied into the blankets, allowing sleep to pull her from reality and immerse her in peaceful dreams.

**Harry woke the next morning at ten o'clock,** picking sleep from his eyes and sighing. Beside him, Ginny lay peacefully, her hand over her face.

Harry began to sit up cautiously, attempting not to stir the blankets, but he had not been blessed with the gift of grace. Ginny mumbled and rolled over slowly, her eyes barely opening. "Where are you going?"

"I need a shower," he replied softly.

"What – what time is it?" yawned Ginny, who seemed incapable of keeping her eyes from shutting.

"Ten," Harry checked the clock, "o' three."

"I should get up and make breakfast before you have to leave," she muttered.

Harry kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Don't worry about it; go back to sleep. After all, James needs more rest than you might think."

"You'll wake me before you go, right?"

"Of course I will. How could I leave you, love, knowing I never said goodbye?"

Ginny somehow managed to roll her eyes despite them barely being visible, but she pulled the blankets closer to her and in seconds, was breathing slowly and quietly once more.

Harry lumbered into the bathroom and began to run the warm water. He could not stop thinking about the possibility that Hermione and Kingsley were wrong about the crash. What if the plane really had vanished? No, that's a stupid idea, Harry thought almost immediately, Hermione may have been wrong about the Hallows, but this was something else entirely.

Shaking his head at himself, Harry removed his clothes, climbed into the shower and tried to remember all that he had read last night. The first page he had flipped to, simply by chance, was a boy's file – Walter Lloyd. What could Harry recall about Walter? He thought for a moment, drawing a blank, and instead moved on to the boys' father – Michael Dawson. This man's papers had had a startling effect on Harry.  
Walter had been taken from Michael when the boy was only a few years old – all because his ex-wife could afford better lawyers. Harry could not imagine the torment he would endure if he was not allowed to see James. Ever. Even though he desperately wanted to.

Harry turned the water off and ran a hand through his wet hair. He could not think about that; the mere contemplation of it was enough to make him shake with anger and a slight fear of losing yet another loved one.

Somehow, Harry managed to dress himself and think only about what his hands were doing in order to stop his thoughts from wandering to Walter and Michael, or to a man named James Ford, whose mother had died when he was seven as he watched, or to a John Locke, whose own father had stolen one of his kidneys.

He zipped up his suitcase at 11:45 and stared at Ginny's blissful form. Harry could not wake her up – not when she was so at peace. He smiled down at her, left an apologetic note on his pillow and whispered goodbye to his wife and son before closing the bedroom door behind him.

**Hermione took her spot** beside two empty seats and avoided glancing at the tail-end of the plane, where Harry was seated. Glancing around, she began to look for signs of a threat. To her annoyance, Hermione kept sneaking peeks at the Islamic man she had read about – Sayid Jarrah – which filled her heart with disappointment in herself. Hermione would not allow herself to profile as Malfoy had. Now, she became resolute not to look at him at all.

Hermione brushed her hair back habitually with her right hand, opening the notebook on her lap, getting into character and sketching the Golden Gate Bridge.

Finally, the plane was ready to take off, and Hermione strapped on her seat belt, surprised and pleased that no one had claimed the spots beside her. After a few moments, however, a large man with wild hair, whom Hermione recognized to be Hugo Reyes, stopped alongside her aisle. He was sweating profusely, and he stank but was clearly happy to be here.

"Just made it," exclaimed Hugo, dropping into the seat and grabbing his headphones. He turned to Hermione with a smile. "Sorry, dude, I know I smell, but it's my mom's birthday, and if I miss this flight, she'll kill me."

Hermione smirked helplessly. "Well, tell your mother I said Happy Birthday …"

"… Hugo, Hugo Reyes, but you can just call me Hurley," he stuck out his hand, and Hermione shook it. "So what's your name?"

"Emilie Belgarde," Hermione lied, leaving no evidence of her falsehood as she shook his hand.

"So Emilie, is that the Golden Gate?" asked Hurley, gesturing to her notebook.

"Yeah, that's where I'm headed," she replied.

"Cool, dude," Hurley sounded genuine, and he stuck his headphones over his ears and did not speak again.

**Harry was staring out of the window** a few hours into the flight, curious that nothing at all peculiar had happened. Ironically, at this moment, a man Harry knew to be Charlie Pace ran abruptly past his aisle and through the curtains while flight attendants began to chase after him. After that, Harry saw nothing more, and he began to relax again.

Then, out-of-nowhere, the plane started to shake violently for a few seconds. When it had stopped, the 'fasten seat belt' sign flickered on, and Harry did not hasten to obey. However, the tremoring seemed to decrease for a moment and then increase rapidly at an even faster pace. Harry reached for his wand, knowing the incident was about to happen when there was a loud creak, and the tail-end split from the front of the plane, and he began to tumble freely through the air. His head spun as Harry frantically pulled out his wand, but blood had rushed to his head, and he blacked out and knew no more.

**Water. Water filled her nose, her mouth, her lungs.** Hermione felt it spewing from her as she opened her eyes and continued to cough, kneeling over and burying her hands in coarse sand.

"Son of a bitch!" she heard a man with a heavy Southern accent exclaim. "You vomited all over my shirt!"

Hermione turned around, shivering and wiping her mouth. "Sorry," said Hermione to the man, who wore an expression of disgust as he ran his hand through his golden-brown hair, which was rather messy and filled with grains of sand - James Ford.

He let out a heavy sigh. "Whatever, Queen Victoria. Now I gotta go wash this off in the damn ocean."

Hermione watched him leave but yelled her thanks to his back and saw him wave his hand casually in return.

Slowly, she began to take in the scene around her: many large pieces of their plane lay scattered across the beachfront; Boone Carlyle was crouched over Rose Nadler, attempting to perform CPR; Shannon Rutherford was screaming obnoxiously; Jack Shephard burst from the forest, two small gashes on the right side of his mouth; last, Hermione's attention turned to a slightly younger, pregnant girl - Claire Littleton - who was clearly having contractions, and Hermione decided her need was greatest and took off at a sprint, sliding into the sand beside her.

"How many months along are you?" she asked gently.

"Eight - eight months," replied Claire in a smooth, Australian accent. She clutched her stomach tightly.

"Okay, okay, um, can you tell me your name?" Hermione continued, trying not to panic.

"It's - Claire," she managed through a great effort.

"Claire, I want you to take a few deep breaths, all right? Just breathe in and out slowly, and I'll try to find someone who can help."

She nodded, and Hermione ran to get Jack, all the while calling out for a doctor so as not to appear suspicious. Finally, he stood up from beside Boone and Rose and exclaimed, "I'm a doctor."

"Oh thank God," replied Hermione. "Please come with me. That girl down there is having contractions," she pleaded.

Jack nodded and followed Hermione to where Claire was still hunched over in the sand, tears staining her cheeks now. Slightly impressed, she watched as Dr. Shephard calmed her down enough that the contractions seemed to stop. "I need to go help the others, but you stay with her, and let me know if the contractions come back."

"What if I can't find you?" she asked.

"Just yell my name – it's Jack," said Dr. Shephard, whose hands were on the sides of his suit coat as he panted heavily.

Hermione nodded and sat beside Claire as they watched him leave. "So … boy or girl?" she asked in an attempt to make conversation.

"It's a boy actually," replied Claire with a small smile, putting her hand over her very large stomach.

"Have you picked out a name yet?"

"No, I – well, I was going to give him up for adoption," she sounded guilty.

"The father was too cowardly to stick around," Hermione said knowingly. There was an awkward pause in which Claire stared curiously at her. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm sorry you've had to do it alone," she turned and smiled at Claire, who blushed and smirked back, clearly thrown off. "My name's Emilie by the way," added Hermione.

"Nice to meet you, Emilie – and thanks – for everything."

Hermione was about to open her mouth when she heard a sudden creak of metal and instinctively looked up. All her Auror training and alertness paid off as she pulled Claire up and pushed her away, running as fast as she could from the falling plane wing as it exploded behind them, sending Hermione flying forward as a small shard scraped roughly against her leg, leaving a deep gash and a steady line of blood running down her thigh and staining her socks.

"Claire?" she lifted her head and stood up, limping to where the girl was brushing sand off her black shirt. "Are you okay?" asked Hermione.

"I'm fine. I can't believe you did that. You saved - " she panted and then suddenly noticed Hermione's leg. "Emilie, you're bleeding!"

"I'm fine," said Hermione, her throat beginning to feel dry, and her head starting to spin. She felt herself stumble slightly and fall backwards as someone caught her and set her onto the beach.

"Oi!" the voice said as Hermione's eyes spun between Claire, the sand, the ocean, and this newcomer – a young British male with blond hair and a peculiar scent on his breath. "Are you guys okay?"

"Jack!" That was Claire's voice. Hermione began to blink away spots.

"Really, I'm fine," she tried to sit up, but someone gently pushed her back down, leaving a firm hand on her shoulder. "Let me up," insisted Hermione.

"You need to relax. Do not move, and I will see what I can do about your wound." This was another new voice – Sayid. Hermione could determine its owner even in her light-headed state.

She felt water creep underneath her body and retreat again, and the salt brushed her leg. Hermione gasped in unexpected pain. "I am afraid you are going to need stitches. … You - "

"It's Charlie."

"Charlie, go and find a man named Jack. He will know what to do." Hermione felt a pair of strong arms pull her up, and she did not protest because at that very moment, even as Claire walked beside them, telling Hermione to hold on a little longer, she passed out.

**Hermione's eyes fluttered open,** and she felt an odd, nauseating feeling in her leg; it was enough to make her cry out in pain and almost sit up abruptly had two strong arms not been holding her down. "Jack, she's awake," said a female voice, which, Hermione saw as she looked up, belonged to Katherine Austen. She felt a sudden urge of panic both to do with the fact that a murderer was holding her down and that Jack was giving her stitches – without the Novocaine.

"Emilie, right?" asked Austen in a calm voice, and Hermione nodded after a second of thought.

"I'm sorry; I know this hurts, but you had lost so much blood by the time I got back. There was no time to look for medicine," explained Jack.

"It's fine; I can handle it," said Hermione through gritted teeth as she tried not to think about the feeling of the needle being pushed and pulled through her skin as if it were some sort of blanket to be woven.

Katherine seemed to recognize this and tried to distract her. "I'm Kate by the way."  
"Hi – BLOODY HELL!" shouted Hermione, her hands clenching the edge of what seemed to be a make-shift table. "Hi Kate," she let out in a breath.

"What's your job?"

"I'm an architect," Hermione replied. "What's yours?"

"I work at a farm," said Kate, though Hermione knew she was lying. However, she kept her mouth shut.

At that moment, there was a sudden pain in her leg that caused her to actually scream in pain, and tears began to fall down her face; Hermione felt embarrassed. "I'm so sorry," said Jack in a soothing voice. "We're almost done; just a few more minutes."

Suddenly, the tent flap opened, and in walked James Ford. "Damn it, woman, can't you keep it down?!"

"Get out of here," said Kate.

"No can do, Freckles," Hermione saw Kate clench her teeth in anger. "Some of us are tryin to have civilized conversations, but it ain't so easy when you're torturing the English in here."

"Get out before I have to make you," she spat in reply.

"Ooh, I'm scared now. Go on, hit me. I bet you ain't never hit anyone in - " But he was stopped short as Kate punched him, hard, across his face.

"Hey!" yelled Jack. "Take that outside!"

James had a bemused look of hidden pain on his face as he threw open the flaps and shrugged his way through them. Jack, however, bore a clearly entertained smile as he set back to work.

Kate shook her wrist a little and went to stand back over Hermione, but she did not restrain her anymore.

"Finished," said Jack, and Hermione let out a grateful breath. "You're going to have to relax here for a few hours. Is there anybody you want us to look for? Anyone you'd like to keep you company?"

Finally, after all this time and chaos, she remembered Harry, and Hermione longed to say 'Albert Holmes' but she couldn't. "I don't really know anybody but Claire. I'll be fine," she replied.

Jack nodded, but Kate said, "I can stay with her."

"No, you don't have to do that," insisted Hermione.

"I don't really know anybody either. We might as well get to know each other," she countered reasonably with a small smile, taking a seat on a piece of the plane.

Hermione could find no reason to argue with her, so she simply shrugged. "Why not? … Thanks, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he smirked. "Just get some rest."

Hermione sat up and faced Kate as the folds of the tent rustled to a close again. "So why were you in Sydney?" she asked, putting her hands on her lap and resisting the urge to look at her leg.

"Your name's not Emilie, is it?"

Hermione was thrown completely off guard. "Y – yes, it is."

Kate laughed. "Then why'd you hesitate?"

"What?"

"When you told me your name, why'd you hesitate?"

"You really work on a farm?" was Hermione's clever reply.

"I guess we're both pretending then," said Kate as she stood back up. "But if there really is someone you want me to look for, I'll keep it a secret."

Hermione struggled with herself for a moment before whispering, "Albert Holmes. His name is Albert Holmes."

Kate smiled. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

**The night passed slowly** as Hermione stared at the great blue sky over her head, thinking about Harry, Ron, Ginny and James and worrying that she may never go home, and James may never get the chance to meet his father. And it was these thoughts that finally brought her to tears, and Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled them against her chest, leaning her head forward and shaking as she sobbed.

It was all her fault. _I'm sure they didn't actually vanish, Harry;_ _then I can come home; promise; I promise_. Ron would be disappointed as she broke yet another promise to him, and worse would surely be the look on Ginny's face when she realized Harry was not coming back this time.

That was another problem: where was Harry? When Kate had returned to tell her she could come out and sit on the beach, she had also passed the news of no one seeing an Albert Holmes anywhere. Hermione could not bear to wonder whether or not he was dead; he had to be alive – somewhere – maybe with the other tail-end passengers.

But hadn't the tail split off from the plane? He could be in the middle of the ocean – starving, wandless, cold. Hermione shivered at the thought, goosebumps riddling her bare arms and legs. Why today, of all days, had she chosen to wear a tank top and shorts? She huddled closer to the fire, but it did little to warm her up.

Hermione laid her head against the sand, tears still streaming from her eyes and stared into the flames for a long time until she heard footsteps.

"You all right there, Queen Victoria?" Hermione sat up quickly and sniffled.

"Fine," she said a bit hoarsely, very surprised that James was talking to her.

"Well, I – here," he gently draped a blanket over her shoulders. "I don't like – blankets," said James, sitting beside her.

"Thanks," whispered Hermione in confusion.

"You know anyone on the plane?" asked James, clearly feeling awkward.  
"No," she lied, feeling the tears on her face give her away slightly as one more trickled down her cheek.

He did not say anything else, clearly uncomfortable, so Hermione attempted to break the ice. "Why do you keep calling me Queen Victoria?" she asked casually.

"Well, I gotta call you somethin'," he replied with a slight smile.

"Why don't you call me my name?" chuckled Hermione in spite of herself. James waited expectantly. "Emilie," she said.

"Emilie? You sure as hell don't look like an Emilie to me," he laughed.

Hermione paused. "I get that a lot, but I've never been told I look like a Victoria either."

"You have a better idea in mind?" he asked.

She sighed, leaning back against a log, finally beginning to relax. "Well, what's your name then?"

"My name? … It's Sawyer," replied James.

"Sawyer? Your parents actually named you 'Sawyer'?"

But something about the sentence must have upset him: James grew suddenly stiff and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I ain't gonna tell you my whole life story," he stood up abruptly.

"I'm sorry; I was just - "

Hermione was cut off by a cacophonous collaboration of noises unlike anything she had ever heard before. A loud horn-like sound bellowed through the jungle, followed by several snapping trees. She stood up, stumbling slightly as her leg came into play, but Sawyer helped her stand, and they walked forward in a trance towards the assembly of people staring into the forest.

Whatever had made the noise was huge – it continued to convey loud clicking sounds that frightened Hermione to her very core as trees fell easily while it passed them. Her first inclination was a dinosaur, but she shot that theory down immediately.

Finally, there was another horn-like sound, and it seemingly disappeared. The first one to break the silence was Charlie: "Terrific."

**Hermione was one of the only people who fell asleep that night;** she had seen, heard and felt far worse. The only problem was that she had lost her wand, but maybe that would make her cover more believable than if she carried around a strange-looking stick all the time.

Hermione woke up to Claire shaking her gently. "I have a bit of food – it's just a granola bar, but John told me it would do," she said feebly; then after contemplating Hermione's look of pure exhaustion as she clenched tightly to Sawyer's blanket added, "Sorry, I should have let you sleep."  
"It's fine," yawned Hermione as she slowly sat up. "Have you eaten?"

"No, I'll find some more."

"Claire, I can't let you give this to me. You need it – for the baby, and I wouldn't want you to waste your breakfast on me anyway."

"You saved my life."

Hermione shrugged. "It really wasn't that incredible. … Please just eat this," she shoved the chocolate back into Claire's hands. "It'll make me feel better."

"We'll split it then," she insisted, and Hermione decided not to continue the argument as they took turns biting into the surprisingly delicious snack.

"Jack and Kate were talking about going into the jungle to try and find the cockpit, so they can radio for help," said Claire after a few moments.

"They're crazy; they can't go in there. Didn't they see that _thing_ last night?"

"I know, but Charlie – oh, you don't know Charlie yet, do you? Well, he's over by Jack and Kate right now," Hermione pretended to look. "Charlie offered to go with them."

"Then he's crazy too," Hermione paused, suddenly recognizing the possibility that Harry could be in that jungle. "I'm going too." She stood up.

"What?!" Claire jumped up as quickly as she could manage to. "I thought you said this was crazy. Didn't _you_ see that thing last night?"

"I did, and trust me: there are far worse things to fear out there."

"Like what, jungle expert?"

"You don't want to know," replied Hermione, ignoring Claire's jab and marching up to Jack, Kate and Charlie.

"Emilie," said Jack in surprise. "How do you feel?"

"I want to come," she smiled eagerly. "With you – to find the cockpit."

"I don't think that's the best idea," said Kate slowly.

"Yeah, I mean, your leg isn't exactly fit, mate," Charlie agreed.

"I'll be fine," insisted Hermione. "I've been through more than you might think."

"I'm sorry, Emilie, but those stitches won't last any longer if you come with us," Jack added. "Why don't you stay here with Claire?"

Hermione sighed. "Fine, I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in the cockpit and not that monster," she said honestly, turning back towards Claire as the three began to walk into the jungle.

"I told you," said Claire.

"Oh shut up," Hermione smiled.

"So what do you know about tents?"

"Tents?" she tried to hide the look of memories on her face.

"Yeah, everybody else is setting up tents along the beach, and I have no idea how to make one."

"Lucky for you, I do."

"Would you mind helping me? You could even share it with me if you want." Hermione smiled gratefully and began to grab scraps of tarp and plane wreckage. Through all the chaos and panic raging inside her, at least she had managed to make a friend.


	2. Pilot Part 2

Author's note: I wanted to quickly thank those of you who have reviewed, favorited and followed my story already. I have never had such a fast reaction before, and it is your enthusiasm that makes me want to post a new chapter as soon as I can. So here is chapter two. Just to warn you, I'm planning on doing a chapter for every episode of Lost (roughly 120). As far as separating between points of view, etc. I tried to bold the first bits of the changes in this chapter, though there were less here than in the first chapter. Hopefully, it works. If not, I'm sorry, and please bear with the story or message me with tips.

Pilot Part 2

**As soon as Claire and Hermione had finished setting up a meek shelter**, rain began to pour from the sky, and they ran underneath their small piece of blue tarp. From somewhere in the forest, they heard that sound again, and Claire jumped beside her.

Hermione felt an ominous fear for Kate, Charlie and Jack. How close were they to the source of the noise? Were they hurt – or worse?

Hermione crawled out of their tent ignoring Claire's protests and walked slowly towards the edge of the forest. The rain slammed into her body, plastering her hair onto her face and soaking her tank top in a matter of seconds.

She was about to walk into the jungle when the rain stopped just as suddenly as it had come. Hermione walked a few feet into the midst of trees and waited. Suddenly, she heard a small rustling coming from the trees and wavered for a moment before diving into a cluster of nearby bamboo sticks.

Hermione's fears immediately subsided and she let out a relieved laugh as she saw who came walking from the tall grass. "Vincent," Walter called. "Vincent? Where are you, boy?"

She stepped out a few feet, and Walter's eyes grew wide before returning to their normal size. "Whose Vincent?" asked Hermione kindly.

"He's my dog," replied Walter. "I lost him in the crash."

"I'm sorry; I could help you look if you want," said Hermione sympathetically.

"Thanks," he replied sincerely, and they walked through the jungle for a while, not daring to travel too far into the interior.

"Hey!" called Walter after a long and quite pointless search. "I found something," he stooped to the ground, and Hermione approached him cautiously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she knelt beside him.

"What is it?"

"Handcuffs," he whispered. "Who would have handcuffs?"

Hermione knew the answer, but she said, "I don't know."

"Walt! Walt, where have you been?!" Michael Dawson came roaring over to the pair of them. "What did I tell you after everything that's happened?!"

"I just thought - "

"No, you didn't."

Hermione stood by the side awkwardly, disapproving of Michael's methods but understanding his motivations.

"You listen to me when I talk to you; I mean what I say!" He faltered. "Why do you have a pair of handcuffs?"

"I just found them – right there on the ground." Walt shoved them into his father's hand and began walking back towards the beach with his shoulders slumped.

"Let's get out of here," Michael gestured to Hermione, allowing her to walk in front of him. After a moment, he asked behind her back, "Who do you think you are?"

"My name's Emilie Belgarde," she said, sensing an argument.

"That's not what I asked."

"Well then, please explain," said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, I can explain: how could you let my son walk around in the forest _alone_?!"

"He wasn't alone! I was with him the whole time."

"And who says I can trust you?!"

"Walt just wants to find his dog! He's too young to be on this island, and he's bored out of his mind because you're keeping him on such a tight leash!"

Michael grabbed her wrist and yanked, whirling Hermione around to face him at the edge of the beach and the jungle. She stared into his angry eyes defiantly. "I am a _father_; do you have any idea what that means?! It is my job to make sure my son is safe. His _safety_ is always more important than his _entertainment_! Clearly, you don't have a kid of your own or you'd show a little responsibility! … Stay away from my son!" added Michael.

He let go of her wrist roughly and stomped back into the jungle. Upon further examination, Hermione could see the red finger marks and pierced skin on her forearm. Pink in the face, she went to see why everybody else had gathered in the middle of the beach, arriving just in time to watch Sawyer punch Sayid across the face.

Sayid took a split-second to absorb the blow before tackling Sawyer to the ground. They rolled over each other – punching, kicking, shoving, thrashing out. Hermione had never seen such violence before; she was too used to wands, to fighting strategically from a distance.

Michael was barely trying to stop them. His weak attempts did nothing next to the sudden loud roar of Kate. "Stop!" she shouted.

Everyone did a double-take as Charlie, Jack and Kate sauntered out of the jungle. Hermione let out a quiet, unexpected cry of relief at seeing them unnerved and filthy, but alive all the same.

Jack moved forward quickly to pry James off of Sayid, both of them swearing profusely, and Sawyer yelling accusations as he struggled against Jack and Boone, who was using all his strength to help.

"Hey!" yelled Kate again above the noise. "We found the transceiver, but it's not working." Very slowly, everyone quieted down. "Can _anybody_ help?" she asked impatiently.

"I may be able to get it running," said Sayid as his panting began to die down.

"Yeah, sure, trust this guy!" Sawyer exclaimed, and Jack shoved him.

"Hey, we're all in this together, man," interjected Hurley to several nods of agreement.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that kum-bay-ay-ah crap," and he stalked off alone, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"What is his problem?" asked Claire as she appeared from behind Hermione.

She shrugged. "Same as all of ours – we're on a deserted island. Sawyer just has a different way of handling his stress, I suppose."

"How would you know that?" She was clearly impressed.

"I'm exceptionally perceptive," replied Hermione with a small smirk as they headed back to their tent.

"So where'd you go before?"

"I was helping Walt look for his dog," she decided not to bring up Michael.

Claire laughed. "What's that look on your face? Is that – anger?" She nudged Hermione lightly as she rolled her eyes.

"What? Is that illegal?"

"No, you just seem so in control all the time."

"Thanks?" Hermione smiled. "I think."

"Hey, we're going through some luggage – trying to find clothes and what not. Would you mind giving us a hand?" Claire and Hermione turned their heads to see Boone standing in front of them expectantly.

"Of course I can," she stood up and turned to Claire. "I'll find your bag."

"I can help," insisted Claire.

"You should rest – for the baby," said Hermione.

"Yeah, it's fine – we should have enough now."

"Well I'm coming with you anyway. I don't want to sit around feeling useless." Hermione pulled Claire gently to her feet.

Boone nodded and led them to a large pile of luggage in the middle of the beach; he knelt beside them as they began to dig through the bags.

After a few minutes, Hermione asked, "Is your name Boone Carlyle by chance?"

"Yeah," he looked up.

"Well, here is your bag," she picked it up by its soft red handle and lugged it over to him, toppling slightly under the weight.

"Thanks," he caught it swiftly and plopped it down onto the sand. "What's your name – so I can look for your bag?"

"Emilie Belgarde," replied Hermione.

"And yours?" Boone turned to Claire, who seemed distracted, staring out into the churning ocean.

"Claire?"

"Hm?" she turned slowly back to them.

"What's your name?" repeated Boone.

"Oh! It's Claire Littleton."

"I'm gonna go look through the pile on the other side of the plane," he said. "Let me know if you find anything."

Hermione watched him go before asking, "Claire, are you all right?"

She sat down beside Hermione. "I – I haven't felt the baby move since yesterday."

"Oh … I'm sure he's fine; it shouldn't be anything to - "

"To worry about?" asked Claire sarcastically.

"You're right; I'm sorry. … I'll shut up from now on." Hermione said quickly, feeling a bit guilty.

"No, don't; this pregnancy is making me crazy, and now we're on this island, and – it's just all too much."

Hermione had never seen so much worry on a person's face before, and she cautiously reached her hand across her lap to squeeze Claire's, which sat on her leg.

"I'm here for you, okay? Any time," she smiled, and Claire smiled back.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she winked.

Hermione pulled a black bag with a long metal handle on it towards her and began to examine it. "What do you know? 'Claire Littleton,'" she read, and Claire let out a small laugh and reached for the zipper. "Well, I'm going to go cool down. I'll be back in a few minutes." Hermione had actually left her alone so that she could go through her things privately; they may be bonding rather quickly, but some issues weren't meant for everyone's eyes.

She walked to the water's edge and wanted so badly to take off her shirt and go for a swim, but everyone would see her, so Hermione simply stood and let the water roll over her feet gently until she saw Kate out of the corner of her eye.

Unlike Hermione, Kate was pulling down her pants and stepping waist-deep into the ocean, dipping her hair in the water, rubbing her hands through it slowly and sighing. Hermione looked away awkwardly and noticed a Korean woman picking through a small pile of luggage behind her; she looked miserable, and Hermione gave her a friendly wave when she finally looked up to meet her gaze. The woman simply stared at her, but the corners of her mouth edged up into the tiniest smile.

Hermione turned back slowly and thought, 'Oh bloody hell', and she slid her tank-top off, revealing a black lacy bra, before diving expertly into the ocean. Immediately, all her anxiety washed away with the tide. She finally felt clean and new as her head burst from the water with a smile.

Kate laughed. "It feels good?"

Hermione nodded. "It feels perfect. You should come in farther. Anyways, it might be better for me if we didn't stand next to each other outside of the water."

"And why is that?" Kate edged slowly farther from the shore.

"Well, you – I mean, you're in amazing shape," Hermione blushed.

Kate smiled. "Thanks. I – uh – I spend a lot of time running." 'No kidding,' thought Hermione. "And don't be so hard on yourself; you're in great shape too. Although, you're definitely much paler than I am."

"There aren't too many tanning opportunities in London," she replied.

"Duly noted. … You were right – this is perfect," Kate smirked and splashed Hermione suddenly.

"Oh! That was a mistake!" Hermione splashed her back with even more water, and they both laughed.

"Listen, I'm sorry about calling you out like that the other day – in the tent," she elaborated.

"Don't mention it. I'm sorry I "called you out" too. … So what happens if Sayid can't fix the transceiver?"

"I don't know; I suppose we just keep looking."

"Looking for what?"

"Hope," said Kate quietly.

There was a long thought-filled pause. "If you go back into the jungle, will you take me with this time?" asked Hermione

"How's your leg?" inquired Kate knowingly.

"Sore, stiff, aching, but I can handle it. Trust me. Besides, my friend's not here, so he – he might be in _there_ somewhere."

"You'd be better off wishing he weren't in that jungle."

"Why? Did you – did you see the monster?"

"We were in the cockpit, and we heard it. Whatever that thing is – yanked the pilot from his seat and ripped him to shreds. It circled the plane, bumping into it and sending us flying. I don't know how we got out, but we did. … Then it chased us, and I lost Jack and Charlie." Hermione didn't know what to say; Kate, who normally seemed to be untouchable, now looked close to tears. "So I counted to five … and then I found them."

"You counted to five," Hermione muttered, barely audible, in amazement, slowly treading towards Kate and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. She gave a small smile as her eyes seemed to be far off – back in the terror of the cockpit.

"Kate!" a voice called from the beach, and they both turned abruptly as Jack waved for them to come out of the water.

Hermione dropped her hand, and they swam to the shore, silently pulling their clothes back on over their wet bodies.

While Kate followed Jack with her hands shoved in her pockets, Hermione walked back to her tent, her hands running through her hair.

In the corner sat Hermione's bag, and she eagerly opened it, changing into a fresh tank-top and a new pair of shorts. She began to dig hastily through it, looking for the picture – the photograph Hermione kept with her everywhere she went; she could not have lost it.

"Looking for this?" Kate appeared behind her again, holding out a small picture. "It must have blown out of your suit case."

"Thanks," Hermione sighed in relief and took it. The edges were torn, but other than that, the picture had sustained little to no damage.

"_Hermione, why the bloody hell are we taking this picture now?"_

"_Because you planned this wonderful picnic just for me, and I want to remember it." Ron rolled his eyes but set the camera down on the wooden table next to the used napkins and plates. Its lens magically followed his every movement as he chased Hermione around the meadow. Finally, Hermione gave a small squeal as he caught her, wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her on the cheek. "I thought you wanted to take this picture."_

"_I did, but now I might need some convincing," she lied with a smile as he grabbed her hands._

"_I see. … This will take a lot of serious thought." Ron said softly as he scooped Hermione up in his arms, and she wrapped hers around his neck, pulling his lips closer. Their kiss was gentle; their mouths moved in perfect harmony._

_Hermione barely felt her feet hit the ground as Ron's hands slid up to brush her hair and stroke her jawline with his fingertips. She shivered and inched up against him, her own fingers hooking through his belt loops._

_Ron cupped her face in his hands and whispered for the first time, "I love you, Hermione."_

"_I love you too, Ron," she said without a second of thought._

_He smiled, his ears turning red, and pulled her onto his lap as he plopped down onto the grass and continued their kiss. Hermione smirked blissfully against the warm feel of his lips; he tasted like apple pie and smelled like home, and Hermione breathed it all in gratefully._

_They began to lie down, Hermione angled slightly on top of him, but they stopped kissing and simply lay in the grass. Ron wrapped his arm around Hermione and cradled her close to his chest, gently stroking her hair._

"He's very handsome," whispered Kate.

"Thanks," Hermione said again, her throat constricting violently as her heart seemed to ache with longing.

"What's his name?"

"Ron," Hermione closed her eyes, the pressure causing helpless tears to fall from them, and her hands clung tightly to the picture as if it were Ron himself.

Suddenly, to Hermione's complete surprise, she was pulled into a tight hug, and Kate was mumbling words of comfort and rubbing her back gently. It took her a second to come to grips with what was happening before merely accepting it and continuing to cry quietly into Kate's shoulder. Hermione felt embarrassment but appreciation for her consoler.

After a few moments, Kate said, "Sayid said the transceiver might work better at higher ground. We're going into the jungle. … Do you still want to come?" Hermione nodded, quickly removing herself from Kate's arms. "You know you don't have to …"

"No, I'm coming with," Hermione wiped the tear stains from her cheeks, folded the picture in half and stuck it delicately in her pocket.

Kate smiled her usual smile – a beautiful mask meant to hide the pain that filled her heart. "We're going to get home, and you're going to see him again," she reassured Hermione. "At least when we get back, the man you love will be waiting for you."

Hermione felt so many emotions at once – gratitude, hope, longing, discomfort, sympathy and sorrow. She wasn't sure which to express first, so her lost words came out as a stutter.

Kate laughed. "It's fine; you don't have to say anything."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione followed her from the tent, and they went to meet Sayid. Beside him, Boone and Shannon were arguing.

"Are you going?!" asked Shannon as soon as Hermione stopped walking.

"Yeah," she replied confidentially.

"I'm going too."

"No, you're not," insisted Boone

"Yes, I am, Boone. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I think I'm your family, which right now is all you've got!"

"Look, everyone can come, but we're leaving now," Kate exclaimed.

Hermione picked up a backpack and slung it over her shoulder as she followed Kate and Sayid into the jungle.

They had only been walking for a few minutes when Sawyer joined them lazily. "What are you doing here?" asked Kate.

"I'm walkin' – same as you. Now let's get movin', shall we, Freckles?" Hermione smiled to herself at the look on Kate's face.

**The hike through the jungle was long and treacherous;** the climbs were particularly hard, but Hermione was determined not to let her leg be a hindrance. Sawyer led the small group bravely, listening to Sayid's directions without question and somehow managing not to utter any sarcastic comments.

In a few hours, they were now travelling through knee-high grass, surrounded by tall trees with narrow stumps.

"Okay! Wide open space!" called Sawyer merrily. "You should check the radio; see if we're good."

"We're not going to get any reception here," replied Sayid.

"Just try it."

"I don't want to waste the batteries."

Sawyer lost his patience. "Just check the damn radio!"

There was an animal-grunt ahead of them, and all six heads turned around in circles. "What was that?" whispered Shannon frightfully.

Hermione moved forward, squinting slightly, thinking that maybe it was Vincent. Then she heard Kate shout, "Run!"

Behind her, Hermione could hear Shannon screaming and the grass shifting rapidly as the others sprinted through it. That was when the polar bear stood up, and Hermione stared curiously at it; it was only a few meters in front of her.

Hermione began to back away slowly, and the polar bear landed on its legs with a great 'thump' and began to charge at her. She felt an arm pull her out of the way, and there was gun fire. Multiple shots echoed through the field, and the bear fell to the ground, Sawyer standing upright in front of it as its lifeless body skidded to a stop at his feet.

"Damn it, girl, were you tryin' to get yourself killed?" He turned to Hermione, who hastily uncovered her ears.

"I thought it was a dog."

"A dog?!" Sawyer stared at her incredulously. "Why didn't you run?!"

"Why didn't _you_?!"

"I had a gun!" he said with an amused smile on his face.

"Yes, you did have a gun," Sayid came marching up behind him, followed by the others; they all looked shocked, and Hermione could understand why.

Sawyer sighed. "Look, I found it on one of the bodies – there was a U.S. Marshal on the plane."

"How do you know that?" asked Kate in alarm.

"He had a badge," he pulled it out of his pocket with a charming smile. "I took that too – thought it was cool."

"You just happened to find a gun on a federal marshal?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"Look, I don't know what you guys are so fussed up about. In case you didn't notice, I just shot a bear!"

"I know who you are," said Sayid quietly.

"Oh yeah?" Sawyer stepped up to him, narrowing his eyes.

"You are the prisoner. That is how you knew about the gun; the federal marshal was bringing you back to the states."

Hermione saw Sawyer's finger twitch over the trigger. "Fine, I'm the prisoner … but you're the terrorist," he spat venomously in Sayid's face.

"Hey!" Hermione jumped in between them and snatched the gun from Sawyer's hand. To her surprise, she threw it to Kate, who caught it expertly and began to dismantle it. "Stop," Hermione pushed Sawyer away from Sayid.

They both clenched their jaws tightly, and Sayid stuck his hands in the air and began to continue in their walk. Hermione made to follow him, but Sawyer grabbed her wrist and spun her back to face him.

"What do you _want_, Sawyer?" she asked through her teeth.

He smiled softly. "I don't know what your problem is, English. I just saved your life, and you go and side with Suicide Bomber over there."

"You're despicable," she replied.

Sawyer laughed. "You'll come around on my side sooner or later. Your type always do."

"My type?"

"Oh yeah, I've been with girls like you," he whispered lustfully.

Hermione yanked her wrist away. "No girl's exactly like me."

"**This looks like a good spot," said Sayid.** He began to pull the radio out of his bag, and the six of them came to a rest, clutching their sides and sweating like mad. "Hey! We've got a bar!" called Sayid after a few minutes, and they all gathered around him. "Mayday! Mayday!" He shouted into it.

All they got in reply was a bunch of static and high-pitched screeching sounds. "Why is it doing that?" asked Boone. "Is it still broken?"

"No, it's not broken." Sayid thought for a moment. "We can't transmit because something else is already transmitting. … Somewhere close. The signal's strong."

"C – close? You mean on the island?" Shannon asked with enthusiasm.

"Maybe it's other survivors," said Boone.

"Can we listen to it?" Kate inquired.

"Hold on. Let me get the frequency first." The screeching's pitch got louder and softer, higher and lower, until finally, a static-muffled and panicked, young female voice burst from the small speaker at the head of the transceiver.

"It's in French," said Kate with an exasperated sigh. "Does anybody speak French?"

"Shannon! Shannon speaks French," Boone pushed her forward.

"No, I don't!"

"What the hell are you talking about?! You spent a year in Paris!"

"I spent a year _drinking_, not studying!"

There was a series of beeps, and Sayid cried, "No, no, no, no, no, no!"

"What is it?!" asked Sawyer.

"The batteries are dying!"

"Shannon, you can speak French! I've heard you!"

"I can't!"

"Give me that!" Hermione yanked it from his hand. She had only been in Paris once – for a mere two weeks with her parents – and already she knew more French than Shannon appeared to.

The voice suddenly changed to a male's. "Iteration 1-7-2-9-4-5-3-2-"

"What is that?" queried Kate.

Then the female voice returned. "It – it's repeating," said Hermione.

"Iteration – it's a loop, a counter. … The next number will end in 5-3-3."

They waited silently, holding their breath. "Iteration 1-7-2-9-4-5-3-3-" Sure enough the message began again.

"It's a running counter," said Sayid in frustration. "It's keeping track of the number of times the message has repeated. … Now, it's roughly 30 seconds long, and that - "

"Sixteen years and five months," said Hermione, having already done the calculation in her head. Sayid turned to her in surprise, but Hermione had already begun to translate. "She's saying: 'Please. … Please help me. … Please come get me. … I'm alone now. … I'm on the island alone. … Please … someone, come. … The others – they're – they're dead. … It killed them. … It killed them all.'"

Kate looked pale; Sawyer ran a hand through his hair; Shannon was close to tears; Boone's eyes held confusion; Hermione's voice was trembling; but Sayid was the first to speak. "It's a distress call. If the count is right," Hermione nodded slowly, "it's been playing over and over for sixteen years."

"Someone else is stranded here?" asked Boone.

"Maybe they came for them," said Kate quietly.

"If someone came, then why is it still playing?" Sawyer added sincerely.

"Guys … where are we?"


End file.
